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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848092">Reader, I Married Her</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeViolet/pseuds/StrangeViolet'>StrangeViolet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë, Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bisexual Character, Coming of Age, F/F, High School, Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Slice of Life, Teen Romance, Theatre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:47:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,681</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeViolet/pseuds/StrangeViolet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This piece was written for an assignment where we were tasked with writing a story including the line “Reader, I married him” from Jane Eyre. I decided to make mine very, very gay. </p>
<p>A coming-of-age story set in the modern era that follows a young lesbian through her journey of self-discovery and finding love, drawing heavily on my own experiences as a gay person in today’s world.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Reader, I Married Her</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Reader, I remember when I first saw a gay couple in public. I was young, shopping with my father in the local grocery store. He had asked me to grab a bag of baby carrots while he perused the peaches, and as I reached for the bag, I noticed two men holding hands and examining the selection of bagged salads. We made eye contact and, shyly, I waved to them. They smiled back. My father, however, did not. He stormed over and grabbed my hand.</p>
<p>“Seriously? There’s kids around here, I don’t want my daughter to see that!” I heard him snap as we walked away. I didn’t think much of it at the time; I was six, I didn’t know any better.  </p>
<p>Six years later, I was beginning to realize that I was the very thing he hated so much. At a sleepover party one of my best friends threw for her thirteenth birthday, the late-night conversation inevitably shifted to the topic of our male classmates. My friends all babbled on about some or another guy they found cute as I sat mute in the corner, wondering why I couldn’t relate to anything they were saying. Eventually, one friend tried to include me.</p>
<p>“What about you, Rose? Is there anyone you like?”</p>
<p>“None of the boys, but I do think that one girl Emily is kind of cute,” I said awkwardly. From the reactions in the room, one might have thought I had confessed to a crime. Glancing around nervously, someone else dared to ask: “Rose, you aren’t… a lesbian, are you?”</p>
<p>“No,” I said, knowing full well the opposite was true.</p>
<p>Reader, living in the closet is a strange thing. On the one hand, my newfound identity felt so natural to me, so right, that I could almost forget that it was not considered the normal. On the other, I knew that the way I felt about other girls was a dangerous way to feel. I had heard stories about people like me being hurt or even killed because of it. I could not count on anyone’s support; my father’s hateful words back when I was younger convinced me that he would not accept me, and I had no clue where my mother would stand. My friends were very uncomfortable with the mere possibility that I could be anything other than straight, so much so in fact that we never discussed that night again until years afterward. I resolved to keep quiet, hiding this part of me, living with the fear that I would be found out. Nevertheless, Reader, life went on, and soon I was sixteen, a junior in high school.</p>
<p>That year, I decided to audition for the school musical. I have always loved theatre, ever since I first played the role of Sheep #23 in the Christmas pageant when I was seven, but an overly cruel director had driven me away from it for about 2 years. He left the school at the start of my junior year, however, so I chose to go back. I received a supporting role, a comedic character who serves as the heroine’s main confidante. A friend of mine, Winter Braeburn, was assigned the role of said heroine. The two of us were never particularly close before, but our friendship blossomed as the production began.</p>
<p>I will always remember the first time I watched her perform onstage. She had done other shows at the school, but I had never gone out of dislike for the director, so I had never seen her perform until one gray November day when we had our first rehearsal utilizing the stage. Since much of the cast was absent due to another school event, the director chose to begin with blocking one of Winter’s more emotional scenes. It was a song I had loved when we had worked on it in the music room, as it was perfectly suited to her voice. That said, nothing could have prepared me for Winter’s performance that day. Watching from the wings as she masterfully portrayed her character, my life changed forever.</p>
<p>Reader, I married her. I married her from the moment I saw her pour out her heart upon that stage. It was a beautiful moment, that moment of realization, but it was also an incredibly frightening one. I knew in that moment that I did not merely like Winter, like I had a handful of other girls before, but instead I loved her, with an intensity I had never experienced before. However, that radiant feeling was tainted with the knowledge that the odds were stacked against me ever being able to love her fully. I had no idea if she was even able to reciprocate my feelings, let alone if she actually did, without any way of finding out that did not risk my own safety. More than that, I did not want to risk the friendship we already had. Romances seem to me, even now, more fragile than friendships, and even if my feelings were requited, there was no guarantee our love would last. In addition, at that time the law would not have made official any union we might have had in our hearts. Because of all of this, I vowed to remain silent about my feelings for her, hiding away once again.</p>
<p>That said, it seemed as though fate had other plans for Winter and me. As the production went on, we drew closer and closer as friends, but I soon began to wonder if she, too felt something more. I noticed it first in the little things: small glances in my direction, hugs held just a little too long, charged moments alone together in our dressing room. I just dismissed it as her being friendly, having convinced myself that she would never love me back. However, three months after I first realized my affection for her, one night after rehearsal I chose to ask her about a woven tricolor bracelet she usually wore. She paused, visibly calculating her next move, then reached into her bag and pulled out a sticky note. She scribbled something on it, then passed it to me.</p>
<p>“It’s because I’m bisexual. The bracelet is my pride flag colors. Please don’t tell anyone,” the note read. Looking up, I saw that her face was turned away, her expression obscure. I pulled my own pencil out and wrote her my response.</p>
<p>“It’s okay, I wouldn’t tell. I know what that’s like, I’m gay myself.”</p>
<p>It only took her a few weeks afterward to make a move. It was the middle of February, not quite Valentine’s Day, and I had opened my locker to find a folded note and what looked like another woven bracelet, in rainbow colors this time. The note contained Winter’s phone number and an invitation to go to the local mall with her following the show that Sunday afternoon. Obviously, I accepted. We wandered around the mall for hours, idly browsing through all the stores but buying nothing except one large milkshake to share. Eventually, Winter pulled me aside and we sat together on a secluded bench, well away from the main thoroughfares. It was there, Reader, with the golden sunset light filtering through a skylight, that at last we confessed to one another.</p>
<p>Through the rest of high school, we dated in secret. To the outside world, we played the part of merely close friends, but the times when there were no observers told an entirely different story. We stole as many moments together as we could: holding hands beneath a table, out of sight, kisses in empty bathrooms, slow dancing in a back room at prom, well away from prying eyes. Yet, we were always on high alert, breaking away at the slightest noise for fear that it might be an intruder. Like I had done when I first realized my identity, we hid ourselves away for our own safety. I could not, and still cannot, bear the thought of having her taken away from me. Even though I felt we did a decent job staying hidden, I still lived with the fear that somehow, something had gotten out and my world would come crumbing around me. I knew full well that there were people who had seen what little affection she and I could get away with in plain sight and had begun to wonder. If there were rumors, I never heard them. Thankfully, we did not have to live this way forever. Once we graduated and no longer lived under such watchful eyes, we could finally relax, though we still did not dare to openly show affection in public. That was one risk neither of us were willing to take.</p>
<p>Reader, I was her rock, and she was mine. Through college and into adulthood, we still held firm to each other, even though we lived hundreds of miles away at first. I helped her through a toxic friendship, she supported me as I hopped from job to job. She was but a phone call away the night I finally came out to my parents, the night my mother’s “I love you” felt like a lie and the silent weight of my father’s disappointment all but crushed me where I stood. I did the same for her when the time came, though she was fortunate enough to have her parents’ acceptance. We were married in every sense except the legal one, and we were long past the point where a wedding would be anything but a formality when we heard that the court case had gone in our favor.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, I still proposed to her that June, on the same trail we had walked one disastrously cold December weekend. She still said yes to me, as I slid a simple ring onto her finger. We still had the beautiful fall wedding we had always imagined. Reader, under the rich scarlet canopy of two massive maple trees, I did what I had thought impossible on that November day all those years ago. At last, I married her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If there’s anything that’s not tagged that you think should be, please let me know as this is my first time posting and I’m still new to the system. Any feedback you have for me is greatly appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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